Coming out of the woodwork

Have a preemie baby in intensive care and those with stories to buoy your day come, well, come out of the woodwork.

I hadn't known how many people had not taken their babies home from the hospital when they themselves left. I can only imagine the hollow feeling of leaving one's heart hooked to tubes and wiring. But it's not an uncommon occurrence and as I've moved about in my real- and cyber-world since our baby was born on Thursday, I've heard many stories. Most of them center on tiny babies who are now six feet tall.

It works for me.

So a big thanks to Kathi, Kathy, Amber, Irene, Bob, Jenny, Carole, and Cindy. And a bigger thanks to the wonderful lady at church, 85 if she's a day, who looked up at me (and I'm not tall) and recounted the stories of her brothers, one a blip on the radar at 2 pounds--and who grew to be, yes, six feet tall--and the other a resounding 11 pounds! No future size given, nor did I ask. But, she reminded me with a smile, this was when women had babies naturally.

Ouch!

PS: Our baby is still breathing on her own and has taken a bit of sustenance the old-fashioned suck and swallow route. And I got to hold her. I thought my friends were exaggerating when they said there was no feeling like holding the grandchild. No, they didn't lie. It was sheer delight.